


Between the Lines

by rustlight



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Hospital recovery room, M/M, Modern AU, Post protest injuries, Pre-Relationship, Protests never go right in Les Mis fics do they?, Tattooed Grantaire, admitting feelings, skinny love, touch starved enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 21:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustlight/pseuds/rustlight
Summary: When Grantaire gets injured during a protest, Enjolras is left with some emotions to work through. He offers to collect him from the hospital and finds himself facing his feelings much sooner than he expected.





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from @adorablecrab on Tumblr (prompt was 'helping the other get dressed' and we ended up here somehow). Always accepting Les Mis prompts at @damnfinecupocoffee :)

“He cares about you a lot, you know.”

Combeferre nudged his shoulder against Enjolras, his voice soft and low in the quiet of the hospital corridor. Enjolras hated being here - even without the current circumstances there was something about hospitals, the bizarre liminal feeling of being somewhere that felt like a threshold between the living and the dead; the filtered air, the perpetual smell of chemical cleanliness, the quiet of dozens of patients on the ward, sleeping, talking quietly to their families, waiting for news. The unnerving ambience of machines whirring and doctors and nurses at work. He hated it.

Hated that Grantaire was behind one of those unremarkable doors and that he couldn’t stop blaming himself for the state he was in.

“I’m starting to understand that,” Enjolras said, exhaling as steadily as he could. He took the duffel bag from Combeferre’s hand and glanced over at the door to the ward, hesitating to move. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” Combeferre lay a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder for just a moment before he let it slip back to his side. “Call us if you need anything.”

Not waiting to watch Combeferre leave, Enjolras tried the door, knowing it would be better to get this over with quicker. The sooner he did, the sooner he could leave the hospital.

He wasn’t prepared for how helpless and fragile Grantaire looked, curled on his side as small as possible in the hospital bed. It was close to silent inside the trauma ward, and Grantaire was buried as deep as he could be under the thin bedsheets, face buried in the pillow so that Enjolras could only see a shoulder and a mess of unmistakable black curls. Taking a step closer and another regulated breath, he could make out the dark circles around his closed eyes, the three day stubble on his jaw punctuated by the scabs and bruises littering his face. As far as Enjolras could tell he was sleeping, the movements of his chest slow and irregular as though he was in pain even at rest.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras spoke softly, unsure if he wanted to disturb him or just pull up a chair to wait for him to wake up naturally. He was supposed to be driving him home now and the hospital would need the bed, but he felt terrible enough about the situation without having to shake him awake. His head filled with questions; would Grantaire be angry? Upset with him? How badly was he suffering, and moreover could Enjolras do anything to put this right?

Grantaire shifted slightly with an involuntary grumble, eyes blinking open and searching for whoever had said his name. Enjolras braced himself; this hadn’t been discussed, not with Grantaire, and he wasn’t expecting an argument necessarily, but–

“Apollo,” Grantaire said, finding him quickly. A moment of hesitation - and a tired grin split Grantaire’s face, lazy with exhaustion and yet brimming with unbridled happiness. “A sight for sore eyes, am I dreaming?”

Enjolras allowed himself to breath. He still didn’t move, stood at the foot of the bed with his grip tight around the handles of the duffle bag and no idea what to say.

“Hi,” he tried. Grantaire’s smile widened again.

“You’re okay,” he said, peering up from the bed at him, and Enjolras was struck immediately by the ridiculousness of the statement given where they were, given Grantaire’s current state. His voice was slightly slurred, perhaps with sleep but more likely with the heavy dose of painkillers he must’ve been on.

“Thanks to you,” Enjolras offered. Conversation with Grantaire had never come easily, but he deserved Enjolras’ effort now and probably forever more. “I…could have been killed, had you not-”

“Told you your protest was stupid and dangerous,” Grantaire drawled. Enjolras felt a familiar flare of argument rising in his throat, but there was no time for it as Grantaire struggled to sit, fighting with the sheets with a wince of pain flashing across his face. Enjolras’ feet became unstuck at last from where he stood and he found himself at Grantaire’s side, bag discarded on the floor as he helped him prop himself up.

“Be careful with yourself,” he warned, hands lingering on Grantaire’s shoulders. Grantaire laughed humourlessly and gave a shrug in response.

“It’s just broken ribs. I’ve broken ribs before.”

“Just broken- fine, if you’re so capable, perhaps I should go?”

Looking at him curiously, Grantaire laughed. It sounded almost nervous. “About that, why…are you here, Enjolras?”

“Oh.” Enjolras glanced at the bag, around the ward. Wet his lips. Why did this feel like such a big deal? “Seeing as you’re ready to go home, I said I’d take you. Someone has to take care of you, so…”

“So that someone is you. Why?”

“I’m happy to do it.”

Grantaire laughed again, but this time in disbelief. He dropped his gaze to the bed and fell silent, and Enjolras was left wondering again what he’d done. What he always did. For all the years they’d known each other, they’d been at each other’s throats one moment and as far from it the next, so far from it Enjolras had always had to wonder if there was something else he wasn’t seeing; he’d changed his opinion on Grantaire more times than he’d probably ever formed an opinion on anyone else, and how could he not? No one else invoked the same anger and passion and frankly, childishness from Enjolras. And now this, now Grantaire was in hospital for something he didn’t even believe in, for a protest he’d objected to vehemently for weeks - a protest Enjolras had silently accepted Grantaire was right about, not that he’d dare say it aloud - because he’d put himself in harm’s way to save Enjolras from the fallout of his own errors of judgement. Enjolras hadn’t even expected Grantaire to be there, had assumed he wasn’t, but Grantaire had found him in the chaos at just the right time and now-

“Don’t pity me. If that’s what this is, I don’t want it.” Grantaire was staring at him again, and Enjolras hated how the light in his eyes when he’d first seen Enjolras standing there hard dimmed to near nothing.

“I-”

“I didn’t do what I did for your sake.”

His words cut Enjolras short, mouth opening and snapping shut again, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Then why..?”

“For me. I couldn’t have lived with myself if anything had happened to you.”

There was more said between the lines, but Grantaire rarely spoke a language Enjolras understood. He remained out of reach, somewhere in the shadows beyond what Enjolras could see. “Whatever your reasoning, I’m still allowed to be grateful.”

For a moment they just watched each other and Enjolras could see in Grantaire’s eyes that his mind was turning wildly, but he didn’t argue. A slight smile returned to his face and before the silence could drag, Grantaire turned his attention to the bag on the floor.

“Tell me that’s got clean clothes in it. I’ve been in this same nasty sweater for three days and it’s starting to stink like something died in it.”

Enjolras shook himself out of the trance of watching Grantaire, blinking at the bag as though it had only just appeared. “Yes, I believe so. Joly packed it, said it had a few things in you’d left at their flat. No one could find your keys but apparently you have a spare hidden somewhere? You were quite…out of it when you said that, apparently.”

Grantaire chuckled and nodded, making to reach for the bag. Enjolras scooped it up and put it on the bed, scolding him for straining himself.

“It’s just broken ribs!” Grantaire protested, but the gratitude was written on his face, somewhere under the pain.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Enjolras said, one brow arched, daring Grantaire to argue back. He didn’t.

Enjolras moved away from the bed, pulling the curtains closed around the bed and waiting outside of them to give Grantaire some privacy. He checked his phone mindlessly, acutely aware of how relieved he felt to be here, to hear Grantaire’s laughter and his complaining and to bicker with him again. There had been a few moments - more like hours, if he was honest - filled with dread, where every ounce of logic in his mind had departed him and he’d been overcome with the fear that Grantaire wouldn’t pull through this. That things would be different now even if he did, that he’d not want to speak to Enjolras ever again, or that he’d decide once and for all that he was through with Les Amis and with Enjolras and that he’d leave forever. He’d sat awake, alone in his flat at three in the morning turning it over in his head, questioning what those fears meant to him, and he’d reached a conclusion he’d known was coming: Grantaire meant more to him than he was willing to admit. More to him than anyone else. It was a different feeling to the way he cared for Combeferre or Courfeyrac, and Enjolras wasn’t so dense as to not understand what that meant. There was no point he could pick out of his memories when it had happened, when Grantaire had become so important, but faced with the notion things might change it was impossible to deny. Enjolras knew he was bad to him. They were bad to each other, most of the time, but Grantaire always came out worse for it. And perhaps…perhaps Enjolras could finally see why. He had a feeling he was important to Grantaire in exactly the same way.

A series of quiet grunts and grumbles sounded from behind the curtain, and then a sigh so audible it may have made Enjolras laugh had he not been concerned. 

“Enjolras, are you there?” Grantaire mumbled. “I may need a hand.”

Enjolras slipped back through the curtain and couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corner of his lips at the sight of Grantaire half tangled in his sweater, trying to get it over his head.

“Are you sure? Looks like you have it under control.”

“Don’t be a dick, Enj.”

His wicked smile grew but he bit back any further teasing and helped Grantaire get out of his sweater as gently as possible, scolding him when he tried to struggle out of the sleeves and ended up hissing in pain.

Free at last, Grantaire pouted and refused to meet his eyes. Enjolras wanted immediately to rub it in, remind him of how serious three broken ribs really were, but he refrained. He reached down for the hem of Grantaire’s t-shirt, fingers brushing at it and waiting for the okay from Grantaire to keep helping. He nodded, still looking away.

Enjolras peeled him out of his shirt, admiring his tattooed skin as it was revealed beneath the fabric, the bright and beautiful designs cascading over his arms and shoulders and down his sides, dipping below the bandages strapped tightly around his ribs. He traced the lines of Grantaire’s torso with his eyes, the dip of his collarbone and the hair spattered across his chest, and old scars fading away on his olive skin. Enjolras didn’t know much about art, admittedly, but his flaws and his inkwork were so becoming of him, Enjolras was sure he could be classed a masterpiece.

“Enjoying the view?”

Flustering immediately, Enjolras looked away and folded Grantaire’s clothes haphazardly. “Just admiring your tattoos,” he muttered. He grabbed the bag and opened it, grabbing at the first clothing he found inside. “I assume you’ll need help dressing as well.”

Daring a look up at Grantaire at last, Enjolras found him watching him with a warmth in his expression he’d not seen before, a sort of fondness it was impossible to describe. He smiled back much the same and the urge to reach out and touch Grantaire’s cheek surged up so suddenly it caught him off guard.

“Grantaire…” he murmured, moving a little closer.

“Yeah, I will.” Grantaire looked away again. “Sorry, I know this is kind of shit.”

“Don’t. You’re hurt,” Enjolras said quickly. “I’d do the same for any of my friends.”

He tried not to question the silence that followed his words, instead easing Grantaire into the clean t-shirt he’d dug out of the bag and relishing the sight of his curls springing through the neck hole as he pulled it down. They were mad, with bedhead and three days without a shower, and yet Enjolras wanted to touch them all the same. He wondered how it’d feel to curl his fingers around them and pull, what reaction it might draw from Grantaire, and felt his ears go warm with embarrassment at the thought.

“Your trousers and underwear,” Enjolras said with sudden realisation. Grantaire must have realised too, because it was him who reddened then, shocked at the implication.

“I can wait. I’ll change them once I’ve showered,” Grantaire said firmly, and then laughed. “I’m not looking to traumatise you, as entertaining as it’d be.”

Enjolras shook his head, biting at his lip in amusement and relief. Perhaps there was something there, something that would need to be talked about soon, but there were lines he was certainly not ready to cross yet. Certainly not right now, behind a thin curtain in a hospital ward with a dozen other people. “Are you sure you’re alright to shower alone?”

“Is that an offer?” Grantaire said, deadpanning. Enjolras’ jaw dropped slightly. He ran a hand over his face and mumbled a no into his palm.

There was a zip-up hoodie amongst the assortment of clothes Joly had packed, and he offered it out. Grantaire considered it, and reluctantly agreed to let Enjolras help him into it, so they shuffled him awkwardly into one of the sleeves. He shifted to the edge of the bed with significant effort, dangling his legs over the edge until Enjolras could reach to help him into the other. Leaning close to Grantaire to do so, their shoulders brushed and Enjolras felt him freeze for just a moment, but there was no desire to pull away. He was very nearly fitted into the space between Grantaire’s thighs, arms around him to help, and the realisation that this was the closest they’d ever come to hugging struck Enjolras hard.

Swallowing thickly, he finished helping him into the hoodie, stepping back just a little to fuss it until it sat right, and to get it zipped up.

He didn’t move away when he was done, hand lingering on the zipper, his gaze fixed on his own fingers as he let them wander across Grantaire’s chest, his touch feather-light as he explored it. Enjolras’ breath was baited in his throat feeling the tautness beneath his fingers, wishing he’d touched it before the layers of fabric got between them, wrapped up entirely in their closeness and the overwhelming sensation reeling through his mind.

“Enj.” Grantaire’s voice cut gently through the haze of his thoughts. His words trembled a little. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, although he still made no move to stop. “I…”

He met Grantaire’s eyes and found them wide and patient and so fond that a wave of adoration swept over Enjolras at the sight of them. He matched Grantaire’s smile slowly, retracting his hand at last only to find Grantaire catching it in his own.

Their fingers tangled, hands lowering to rest on Grantaire’s thigh.

“We need to talk about this,” Enjolras breathed, in awe of how natural this felt. “Don’t we?”

“Mmm. Maybe when I’m not feeling so loopy,” Grantaire hummed. “I have a lot I want to say to you and I just don’t think I can word it right now.”

“Alright.”

Enjolras stepped back at last, but the retraction didn’t seem to add any distance between them. It didn’t break the moment, and Enjolras found himself breathing a sigh of relief once more.

“Can we go home?” Grantaire said, staring down at their still entwined fingers. “I mean- my home. Or anywhere really, the Musain, a supermarket, McDonalds…I can’t stand hospitals.”

With a laugh, Enjolras squeezed his hand. “Me neither,” he said, and felt no shame at the thought that followed. “How about mine? It’s a little less cramped than yours, and maybe we can-”

Can what? Talk, maybe, or perhaps finally share some real physical contact for the first time, dressing Grantaire aside. A hug would be a good start, but Enjolras couldn’t ignore the thought of them huddled together on his sofa in a blanket, or Grantaire’s head in his lap so he could play with those curls.

“Do you have Netflix?” Grantaire asked, saving him from having to finished his sentence. “I’m really in the mood to watch some bad cooking shows or something. Do you ever get that?”

“All the time. And yes, I have Netflix. I’m not a neanderthal.”

“Deal, then.”

Grantaire released his hand at last, gently shuffling to the edge of the bed. Enjolras helped him to his feet and passed him the crutch the nurses had left him, hastily packing his dirty clothes into the bag and slinging it over one arm. He drew back the curtains, very aware suddenly that they’d not been alone as he’d felt for the last twenty minutes, through all their conversation.

Not that it mattered. Not much mattered, actually, besides this. Not when Grantaire was reaching for his hand again and he was taking it without hesitation, gripping it tightly to support him as they headed out of the hospital ward. There was a lot to discuss soon; not just feelings, but the protest, what happened, and what felt like a lifetime of arguments he’d never really apologised for that definitely deserved addressing… but that could follow. Right now he could focus on the feeling of a hand in his own, and the way Grantaire was leaning against him slightly as he walked, and the fact that Enjolras knew at the bottom of his heart, without a doubt now, that everything was going to be alright.


End file.
